


careful what you WITCH for!

by katasstropheee



Category: Charmed (TV 2018)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Angst, Christmas Fluff, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mistletoe, Spell Failure, Written for the CW Charmed Secret Santa Exchange.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:47:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28311837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katasstropheee/pseuds/katasstropheee
Summary: On their first Christmas together since defeating the Faction, one childhood tradition goes awry, with some very unexpected surprises.
Relationships: Harry Greenwood & Macy Vaughn, Harry Greenwood/Macy Vaughn, Jordan Chase & Maggie Vera, Jordan Chase/Maggie Vera
Comments: 10
Kudos: 22
Collections: CW Charmed Secret Santa 2020 Event





	careful what you WITCH for!

**Author's Note:**

> This is an… unexpected and triumphant moment for me.
> 
> Firstly, I wanted to wish everyone a MERRY CHRISTMAS! I hope you are staying safe and feeling loved, enjoying all the merriment that comes with this day. And if you don’t celebrate Christmas, I hope you are enjoying whatever holiday this is for you, even if it’s just a day off.
> 
> The fic itself was written for the CW Charmed Secret Santa 2020 Fic Exchange, and was written specifically for write-for-sore-eyes on Tumblr. I am not sure if they have an account on here, so if you do, please message me on Tumblr so I can gift this to you properly.
> 
> I had so much fun preparing and writing this particular piece. I hit a bit of a snare midway through the month, but I pretty much wrote the majority of this over three/four days. It’s not something I would normally brag about, or be proud of. I don’t like rushing when it comes to writing. But given the time limit, and my sudden inspiration for the story, I can say I’m proud of how this turned out.
> 
> It’s also the longest fic I’ve written without chapters and time breaking it up. I hope the story flows as well as I wanted it to. And I hope you all find something to like about it.
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated, and I know it would make my Christmas to hear what you all think of it. So please, read on and enjoy this epic tale of merry proportions.

“This is ridiculous.”

When Maggie had texted her to meet in the attic, like some covert spy sending a top secret document, she hadn’t expected to walk in on a séance. Candles were planted strategically around the room, their faint scents and flickering light giving the room an unusually mystical glow. That was not unusual for the three sisters, witches by heritage, but it was still an odd thing to walk into on Christmas Eve.

“Maybe so,” Maggie greeted, placing a hand on Macy’s back and pushing her deeper into the room. “But you are a Vera now Macy, and that privilege comes with many responsibilities.”

“And by responsibilities, she means “stick your ass on this pillow girl!”

She stumbled forward, almost thrown off balance by the bundles of pillows that created a circle around the center of the room. On display in the very middle was a deep, black bowl, surrounded by numerous tea candles and scattered flower petals. Whether they were important to the task at hand, or simply there to make the display look more romantic, she wasn’t sure.

She gave Melanie a nod from where she sat to the left of the display. Maggie seemed to be gesturing for her to sit to its right.

She scoffed at her sister’s terrible impersonation. “Please Mel. Can we take this seriously?” she asked, pleading with Mel who seemed to be finding joy in her pouty lips and wide eyes.

“Of course, Mags” she amended, giving her younger sister’s shoulder a soft pat. “You know I like this tradition too.”

Something about the way Mel said that made Macy think that statement wasn’t completely true. But who was she to question what Mel was thinking in this moment? She was still too confused to comprehend what was happening herself. “Okay, sisters. Explain.” She sat on her knees, hands folded in her lap, waiting for Maggie to jump into a long, extravagant monologue on what the festivities were for.

She had been correct in her assumption. Like a big ball of endless energy, Maggie jumped in, leaning forward over the small flames on the table. Luckily, her hair was up in a bun, and wasn’t threatening to catch on fire. Not like last time.

_That had been an interesting Thursday afternoon_ , Macy recalled.

“Well, the tradition itself started when I was about three or four-“ she paused, turning to Mel for confirmation. She nodded, lips sealed as she left it to her sister’s interpretation. “Yeah. Mom would set up something just like this, and have us take a pen and paper, such as these.” She gestured to the pile of said objects on the floor at her feet. “And we would write down the one wish we had for next year. It could be anything we wanted, or anything we wish we had the previous year.

“She would have us write them down, then fold the pages in half. From there she would burn the pages, and say something in Latin, I think. It certainly wasn’t Spanish,” she chuckled, breaking up the silence in the room that came from Macy’s baffled stare.

She waited for Maggie to continue, but when she paused for longer than expected she spoke up. “And… that’s it?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

Macy took another fleeting look about the room, her hair whipping her face at the sudden and quick activity. “So, this isn’t a séance?”

Mel broke out into a laugh that would’ve only been more emphasised if she had water to spit out. Maggie simply rolled her eyes. “Of course not. We’re witches. We should know better than to talk to the dead at this point.”

“Amen!” Mel agreed.

Macy’s shoulders sagged in a strange sense of relief, chuckling nervously with her sisters. “Sorry. This is just so new to me.”

“No need to apologise,” Maggie affirmed. “I suppose I could’ve been less theatrical.”

Their laughter died down to a more comfortable silence. Maggie picked up a parchment of cream paper, its surface rough under the fingertips. She handed one each to her sisters, as well as two odd pens she had found while searching the draws of her desk.

“So, we’re just supposed to think of a wish?”

“Yeah. It can be anything you want. But-“ She leant forward suddenly, placing a finger on Macy’s opened mouth. “No saying them out loud.”

“Oh.” Maggie’s fingers stayed planted on her lips for longer than she appreciated. She eventually swatted them away, causing Maggie to giggle. “Well… how will I know if it’s a good wish?”

“You won’t,” Mel interjected, her pen scrolling effortlessly over the parchment she leant over her knee. “You just have to look deep into your soul, and figure out what you truly want.”

“Exactly.” Maggie leaned towards Macy, lowering her voice. “That’s what mom used to say.”  
Now she was feeling the heat, the surrounding candles barely scorching the growing blush on her cheeks. She looked down at the bare sheet, pen poised to write. She closed her eyes, conjuring everything that met the most to her. She flickering through the list quickly, noting what she already had, and what was missing. One particular image seem to stick out, something she longed for more than anything.

Her eyes snapped open as her fingers twitched. She wrote the wish in the simplest way she knew, in a way that wouldn’t confuse whatever entity granted them. By the time she was done, dropping the writing implement to the floor and folding her sheet over in two, she was pleased to see her sisters were seated patiently, waiting for her completion.

“So, we’re all ready?”

With a unanimous accordance, Maggie produced a notebook from somewhere off to the side of the circle. It was brown, leather-bound and tethered with age. It looked like one of the many journals that lined the shelves at the heart of the attic. One of their mother’s journals.

Maggie had bookmarked the very page they needed, holding it open with her thumb and passing it to Macy. She took it with a careful touch and placed it in her lap. “When it’s your turn,” Maggie instructed, “just recite that small Latin passage at the bottom there.”

Clearly, her sisters had the spell memorised from experience. So Maggie nodded at Melanie to begin. Mel held her parchment of paper over one of the tea candles, its corner singeing quickly over the small flame. The fluency of her Latin was perfect, muttered so low that Macy almost hadn’t heard it.

_“Quis deducet me desideratissimam_

_“Sicut ignis exuret eam.”_

At the very end of her casting, she placed the burning sheet into the bowl. The lick of flames turned the white parchment to black, spreading an amber smoke through the air. Macy fought the urge to reach out and run her hands through its mystical swirls and colours.

“Okay, my turn.” Maggie recited the spell in the same cadence, but with a touch more pride, allowing Macy to hear every infliction. She placed the page on the candle in front of her and placed it in the urn just as quickly. The colours only brightened, building up in power as it rose to the ceiling.

Macy felt two sets of eyes on her, peering at her with admiration. She felt the drive to push forward, holding her own page out carefully over the flame. She felt the heat brush over her knuckle, piercing her skin. She repeated the phrase, slowly and carefully. When she was done, and had added her page to the pile of ashes, she rubbed her hands together, distilling the hot sensation.

Once all three were added, the embers started to disperse. They floated around the room in a vast, and beautiful display, before vanishing altogether.

Macy felt the mood of the room change, going from something hopeful, to sadness. She could feel the absence that her sister’s must be feeling, without having their mother here to encourage them, to hold them afterwards.

She wanted to reach out, promise her own level of love to make up for what they lost. But Mel was standing before Macy could blink, looking down at her sisters with a tired grin. “I guess I’ll see you two in the morning?”

“Bright and early,” Maggie acknowledged, waving as her sister turned and left the room. She turned back to Macy, whose gaze followed Mel to the door. “You too, Mace.” She turned, acknowledging her sister’s beaming face. “We have a lot to do tomorrow.”

Macy nodded. “Sure. Goodnight Maggie.”

“Night sis.”

She was left to herself, with the glint of the fading candlelight as her only companion. She imaged her mother sitting across from her, a smile warming her face and the space around her. Proud of Macy for trying something new, something that scared her beyond disbelief.

But what were the odds of her wish even coming true? She sighed, pondering the question as she circled the room, blowing out each candle individually. When she got to the last one, she took a moment, glancing at the ceiling. Eyes closed in prayer, she blew out the last flicker of light.

“Merry Christmas, Mom.”

\---

Harry trudged down the steps one at a time, careful not to stumble over the ankles of his pyjama trousers. All pretence of proper wake-up protocols were thrown out the window at the sheer shrill of laughter that had woken him in the first place. He recalled gazing at the time on his phone in unmasked surprised, given what day of the year it was.

He rounded the corner following Maggie’s signature giggles and the light tremble of music coming from a Bluetooth speaker sitting on the dining table. He noticed them before they saw him, and watched them for a moment, letting their happiness roll off in waves and onto his shivering skin. It was far too early to be playing pretend, but perhaps a skip in his step would help fend off the morning chill that came with a Seattle winter.

“Harry!”

So lost in his own mind, he was startled at Maggie’s exclamation. Even more so when she came up to him suddenly, and planted a kiss on his cheek. “Merry Christmas!” she barked smugly, a hand on his back pushing him deeper into the room. The only greeting he got from Mel was a rise of her mug, and a smirk at her sister’s rambunctious behaviour.

“Merry Christmas,” he said back, planting himself on the far right stool of the kitchen bench. “What woke you two up this early?”

“Seriously, Har?” Maggie interjected, seemingly going back to work like she had hardly been interrupted. “You know how important this day is to us.”

“Exactly,” Mel perked up, leaning lazily in the corner, “and if Mags doesn’t get her way, we’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Yeah, well I don’t trust either of you,” she pointed at each of them, emphasising her statement, “to make this day as perfect as it could be.”

“That’s fair,” Harry approved, covering an approaching yawn with the back of his hand.

Maggie noticed, tutting beneath her breath. “You should’ve slept in a bit longer, Har.”

“I’m fine. Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked, hoping to get out of a heavier conversation.

“Well, you could go and wake Macy.”

“Oh, yeah.” Now as his eyes flitter around the room – aligned with ribbons and tinsels and small jewels of golden light – he noticed they were indeed short one sister. “She’s still asleep. But to be fair, she was working late last night. I thought giving her another hour wouldn’t hurt.”

“But now-“ Maggie leant on the bench across from Harry and thrusted something into his hand, closing his fingers over it. He felt something sharp dig into his palm, but ignored it as Maggie leant further in, a suggestive smile slowly growing over her face. “I’m sure she would love it if you were the first face she saw this morning.”

Harry hummed, leaning forward and eyeing her challengingly. “Like every morning?” he asked. “Or are you just trying to get rid of me?”

Her smile fell, shifting into a pout before she sighed in defeat. “Both,” she admitted after a moment. “I don’t need your backseat driving while I’m trying to cook, so shoo!” She waved her hand in his general direction, already turning back to her previous task.

He turned to Mel, sharing a humoured nod and shrug with the sister. She shrugged back, a way of saying “what are you gonna do?” with less words and more attitude.

With those parting instructions, he left them to their duties. He climbed the stairs with much more ease than he had descended them, making his way up to the closed door of Macy’s room. _Their_ room now. He tapped twice, waiting for a stir of recognition. Silence. _She must still be asleep_ , he thought, turning the handle carefully and pushing the door open.

She was, buried deep in her covers, hair crowning her head like a star of black curls. He gazed fondly at her peaceful expression, and the occasional twitch of her nose as her dreams fluttered by behind her closed eyelids. He didn’t want to wake her, not just yet. She deserved some peace and sanctuary, given how the past year had been. It had been nothing short of a miracle that they had even survived it.

But hearing another roar of excited voices streaming in from the first floor reminded him of what day it was, and why he had entered their room to begin with. So without waiting another moment, he sat down on the edge of the bed. Facing her, he unfolded his fist and took out the item Maggie had given him. Twirling the stem between his fingers, he sighed. Of course this is what the younger sister’s intentions were. Well, he couldn’t fault her for the creativity, or romantically-inclined purpose of the item.

After taking a deep breath, he held his hand up and out, hovering it above the both of them as his other hand brushed softly over her shoulder. “Macy, love.” She stirred briefly, then settled. “Macy, it’s time to wake up.”

She groaned, her head shaking. “No.”

“Come on, love. I have something for you.”

After a moment of restless stirs, her eyes blinked their way out of creased sleep. With one eye open, she eyed the small hanging branch that dangled from Harry’s fingers, before meeting his face. “Seriously?”

“It was Maggie’s idea.”

“Of course it was.” Macy shuffled, almost knocking Harry off the bed as she turned to her side. “Just give me another minute.”

“Macy, I would give you the day if I wasn’t certain Maggie would bite my head off.”

Macy chuckled, her laugh coming out deeper than he was used to. He loved it. He leant forward and kissed the tip of her nose. Then her cheek. Then just above her brow. “Harry, stop.”

“I can’t” he admitted, his voice smooth as he humoured his lover. “I am under a spell.”

“A spell, huh?”

He continued trailing her face in small kisses until he hovering just above her lips. “It’s the mistletoe.”

She hissed, bunching up her face in embarrassment as he placed small pecks on her mouth. “If you really love morning breath that much,” she said, losing her focus the longer he kissed her. Eventually she gave in and kissed back, her lips still shut tight, but looser as she sucked in his bottom lip.

“Hm, there’s my girl,” he moaned.

“Well, your _girl_ needs to take a shower.” She pushed back on his chest, following his face closely as he leant back and gave her space to sit up. She kissed him again, grasping his shirt in one hand. The other reached up, climbing the sleeve of his shirt up his arm till it found his wrist, pushing further and grasping the mistletoe right out of his clutch. He paused the kiss, watching as she dropped their hands to their lap, holding the mistletoe up to her face. “I’ll just keep this for later.”

His right brow perked up, taking in her fevered cheeks. “I like the sound of that.”

She hummed again, leaving him with one last, impressive kiss. “Now, go. Tell them I’ll be down in a few.”

“Sure” he agreed, leaving in haste. But before the door could completely close behind him, he was throwing her another look over his shoulder. She chuckled beneath her breath at the dorkiest smile she had ever seen on his face, marvelling at how a man so stoic in nature could be otherwise, so delightfully silly.

_Must be that Christmas spirit_ , she humoured herself. Chuckling again, she stood and got ready to shower, taking the outfit she had planned last night with her and shutting the ensuite door.

The shower was much needed, given how cool the house was during these late-in-the-year seasons. It’s old timber roots were not conducive to warmth, but being a witch had its benefits. It threw the consequences of personal gain for a loop every time they selfishly used their powers to stay warm, but she would accept the small fee if it meant she woke up with all her toes intact.

Smiling in satisfaction, she stepped out of the tub and into the steam that had filled the room. An ache in her shoulder had her rolling her neck, stumbling into the sight of the bathroom mirror, which had fogged up beneath the steam. She sighed, lifting a hand to wipe off the dew. But froze.

As her eyes trailed over the silhouette of her face, blurred by the disruption on the glass, she saw another just over her right shoulder. It was standing at the entrance to the room, as still as a shadow on the wall. It sent a wave of fresh shivers down Macy’s back, kicking in her fight-or-flight instincts. The hand that wasn’t risen towards the mirror curled into a fist at her side, fingers twitching in preparation. She counted to three in her head, readying to strike the threat before it could get her.

_One._

The force of her magic started building in her palm.

_Two._

The air around her body stilled.

_Three-_

She whooshed around, the towel balance between her arms and chest falling to the floor at the sudden movement. Hand raised, she cried out, her Latin fluency perfect among the chattering of her teeth.

But there had been no need for a spell, or any magic at all. The resounding crash of the beam that held up the shower curtain being thrown towards the far back wall and toppling to the floor echoed through the room. It made her flinch, and drop her arms to cover herself from indecency.

But there was no one there. No shadowy figure, or demon to destroy. She turned back, eyeing the reflection. The silhouette she had seen had vanished, if it was ever there to begin with.

She picked her hand up again and wiped away the mist. The bathroom was as bare as she had always been, with nothing to indicate that what she had seen was real, or even a figment of her imagination. So she shook her head, berating herself for being so easily frightened.

“Macy!”

Three knocks put her back on edge, but it didn’t take her as long to realise those hadn’t been from hysteria. “Yeah, Mel. I’m okay.”

“You sure?” her sister asked, her voice licked with concern despite the closed door muffling it.

“Positive.” She ducked quickly to retrieve her towel, wrapping back around her waist and chest. She took another deep breath in, lowering her voice as she answered back. “I’ll be out in a moment, okay?”

She waited in anticipation for Melanie to make a bigger deal out of whatever she thought could’ve happened in there. But instead, she heard a relieved sigh, and soft chuckle. “Okay. I’ll see you downstairs.”

As her sister’s footsteps retreated from her room, she sighed, the tension of the last few minutes leaving her body. What remained behind was a large helping of embarrassment.

And the slight shiver of something, somewhere, watching her. Ignoring it, she got dressed and ready for the day, hoping her family could remove that final trace of irritation with some good, old-fashioned Christmas banter.

\---

Melanie had heard the commotion on her way up to the attic. Since Macy had exclaimed she was fine – which was far from the truth, if Mel had heard the quiver in her voice correctly – she had continued her trek after checking in on her. Her mind was running through a variety of scenarios of what could’ve made the loud thud, or why Macy sounded like she was a beat away from having a full-blown heart attack.

But they were soon put on hold as she entered the attic. Ignoring the empty boxes that housed their Christmas decorations eleven months out of the year, and the light fragrance of the burning remnants of last night, she searched the usual cupboards and spots for wherever they would put the cinnamon. That was what she had been sent to retrieve upon Maggie’s request. Looking back, she thought it was strange for her sister to hurry her out of the room so fast. But it could’ve just been Christmas morning jitters.

“She really takes this day far too seriously,” Mel muttered to herself, slamming the last of the cupboard doors a little too heavily. The cinnamon wasn’t here. She could recall using it in a remedy that very week, so she knew she wasn’t going crazy in remembering she had left it up there.

She sighed, holding out a hand, coining the spell as a last straw decision and in no way a handicap for simply not being able to use her eyes.

“ _Ayúdame a encontrar lo que está perdido_ … cinnamon!”

The words flowed freely from her lips, ending in silence after her recitation. Nothing moved, or shifted, or seemed to be stuck in place as she anticipated the small bottle of cinnamon to fly right into her hand. She huffed in annoyance, attempting the spell another time, in case her pronunciation wasn’t clear enough.

Then another.

And another.

By the fourth recitation, she was yelling. Frustrated, she threw her hands up, beckoning at the ceiling, at a god that certainly wouldn’t be listening to her cries; “Dammit cinnamon! You have one job today,” As if the sentient spice would answer her back.

She groaned, dropping her hands and her face in disappointed. Mostly with herself. She was preparing to retreat back to the kitchen, ready to give Maggie the awful news. Ready to see the light of joy slowly fade from her eyes at the… well, not worst news in the world. But on Christmas, any bad news was turned up to eleven, at least in her sister’s eyes.

But before she could turn to leave the room, the recognisable ring of the doorbell met her ears. Its shrill startled her out of her depressed stoup. She wondered who it could be, given they weren’t expecting anyone. This year, they had sworn to keep the day short and simple. Ray had been invited, but declined, being too busy searching for some artifact south of the border. Otherwise, there was no one else to invite.

She approached the wide, round window at the head of the attic, ignoring the vertigo and sudden urge to run, as she tried to peer down at the unwanted guest. Her first thought went to them being carollers, or a poor civilian knocking on doors for some on-brand children’s charity.

But then she remembered their house was cloaked from such annoying pestilences, and shook her head.

Looking down, she couldn’t see anyone suspicious. They must’ve already made their way onto the porch before she could get a good look at them. So she followed the footprints imbedded in the snow out to the gate, and onto the street. It was as deserted as it usually was, but as she ran her eyes along the sidewalk, she paused. A beat-up beetle sat idling on the other side of the road, one she instantly recognised.

“It’s for me, guys,” she heard Maggie yell up from the first floor.

She groaned. “Seriously, Margarita?” she yelled, using her full name to emphasise her annoyance.

She was ignored. She heard Maggie open the front door and greet her guest in a happy, and overly enthusiastic jeer.

She knew she needed to put the scolding on hold for the moment, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t show a touch of annoyance at her sister’s blatant disrespect to the promise all three of them had made to each other. And at Maggie’s very own request too.

She stomped away from the window, ignoring the path she had taken to get there. That’s when she flinched, having colliding with a small table, topped with small tubes of ingredients that toppled to the floor with the sudden disturbance.

She swore under her breath, bending to pick them up. She wasn’t paying attention, not enough to organise them in any way. She merely slammed them back onto the unstable surface, anger still brewing towards her sister.

But as her eyes fluttered over the labels on each bottle, not really reading them, one of them pierced the part of her mind that was still aware of her surroundings. She froze, fingers clutched over a clear glass case of brown dust, labelled in her own thick, recognisable scroll.

_Cinnamon_.

She held it so delicately, afraid it would disapparate right out of her hand. Hadn’t she just tried to conjure this very ingredient over to her? Why hadn’t it worked? She looked at the table, and the area around it. Nothing was there, logically, that would’ve stopped it from making its way to her grasp.

Another barrage of loud thuds met her ears from somewhere beneath her, breaking her from her frozen state. She shook off the feeling of something being amiss and fixed up the last of the mess. She stood and made her way downstairs, putting yet another topic on hold and planting a smile on her face.

She would get through this day. If at all, for Maggie. If she didn’t strangle her first.

\---

“Was that the doorbell?” Harry exclaimed. He halted his knife, which was sawn midway into a cantaloupe. He had been put on “fruit” duty, which seemed like a downgrade in comparison to the skills he demonstrated on a daily basis.

But Maggie’s word was final, as was the look she gave him as she threw her apron over a chair at the dining table. “Just finish cutting your melon mister. I’ll be right back.” She left Harry in a huff of theoretical smoke, gazing at her exit in confusion.

“It’s for me, guys!” she shouted. Not to anyone in particular. It was just in case Mel or Macy were making their way downstairs and wanted to scold her before she could reach the entrance. She had made them promise to not invite anyone who wasn’t family over, wanting a quiet and intimate celebration for once in their hectic lives.

But it hadn’t been Maggie’s fault. Not entirely. And she could argue that their guest could be considered family, and should be after everything they had been through.

“Seriously, Margarita?”

She was shocked to hear Mel’s piercing voice coming down in perfect intonation from all the way upstairs. She did her best to ignore it, knowing she wouldn’t hear the last of it. She would wait till Mel laid eyes on her before focusing on the consequences.

Reaching the door, she unclipped and threw it open. Expecting to see a familiar face, she was instead bombarded with a wide array of roses. Bright red and overwhelmingly fragranced, she held her nose in surprise. “Wow.”

“Is that all I get?” Jordan Chase’s head was bent to the right, peering at Maggie’s stunned expression from around the big bouquet. “How about an invitation?” he indicated, clearly wanting in on the warmth and out of the cold.

“Of course! Yes, come in Jordan.” She stood back, taking the flowers from his outstretch hands. She didn’t know what to do with them, racking her head to recall if they even had a vase big enough to fit them. “You really didn’t have to get me these.”

“I wanted to,” he shrugged, his smile broad and pearly. Seriously, had Maggie ever noticed how polished Jordan’s jaw actually was before? Or how his hair bounced in neatly arranged curls when he shrugged in his shoulders? She observed them, barely blinking, as Jordan removed his long, grey coat and scarf, hanging them on the rack by the door.

She shook the cobwebs from her head, producing a smile she hoped was bright enough to match his own. “Well, it’s sweet. Thanks for coming. I didn’t know if you had other plans today.”

“Well, even if I did, I would drop them in a second to spend the day with you.”

“Really?” she asked curiously.

“Ah. No, I’m kidding,” he chuckled, shucking off his coat and hanging it by the door.

“Well, Harry’s in the kitchen. I’ve made him my assistant for the day.”

He laughed. “That must’ve taken a few notches off his belt.”

“Certainly did,” she agreed.

“Well if I can be of any assistance-“

“But you’re our guest. You don’t have to-“

“But I want to.”

His answer was jarring, putting Maggie on edge, briefly, before she brushed it off. Jordan’s stare, while intense, was still kind, and indicated no menace, despite how loud his answer had been. “I’m… sure I can find something for you to do,” she replied after a moment.

“Great,” he stated happily.

“Great,” she mirrored, with a little less cheer.

She had anticipated she would follow, expecting him to turn immediately and head for the kitchen. But she hadn’t expected him to take his next step towards her. Without a moment to process their closeness, Jordan was kissing her cheek. He held it for as long as it took Maggie to remember to keep breathing. In her pause, her hands lost their grip on the flowers. They landed with a louder thud than she had anticipated. Her body jumped with the impact, dislodging Jordan’s kiss.

He didn’t seem perturbed by the disturbance. He merely picked up the bundle she had dropped, nestling them in the crook of his arm as he threw her another infectious smile. “Merry Christmas Maggie.”

Her feet were glued to the floor, unable to move as Jordan finally left the room. She heard the rise in conversation as he greeted Harry, who sounded surprised, but nonetheless happy to see him. It was all too much for Maggie to handle, and if she wasn’t so prepared for the unexpected, her brain would’ve short-circuited for sure.

So she took a second to center her mind. To brush off the oddity of Jordan’s behaviour, at least enough to get her legs working again. She would need to keep an eye on him to make sure he was alright.

She made a mental note in her head, placing it between the rest of her food preparations and gift checklist. She soon entered the room, meeting Harry’s eye from across the kitchen. “Oh, my. You weren’t kidding.” He was holding the flowers with outstretched hands, addressing Jordan but keeping his stare poised on Maggie. She could read the question he asked in her silence, and in the way his right brow was raised. She yet to provide an answer, so she just shrugged, hoping it would suffice.

“I guess not” Jordan admitted, scratching his head. He leaned in close to Harry and lowered his voice. “Do you think I went a bit overboard?”

“Nonsense” Harry said, jumping a bit at the proximity of their faces. “I think they suit the décor quite well. Don’t you agree Maggie?”

She nodded quickly, clearing her throat. “Yes, yes. I love them. I just… don’t know where to-“

“Oh, leave that to me.” Harry rushed over to her side, the flowers dancing in time with his quickened pace. He gave her a wink of encouragement in passing, missed by Jordan who had his fingers dipped into the fruit platter. “I know the perfect place for these.”

“Thanks, Harry.” She bowed back, showing her appreciation for his quick thinking. He left the room in a hurry, leaving Maggie with Jordan, who had her attention once again. He held a strawberry up to his lips, a slight smirk curving at its corners. “You seem quite cheerful this morning,” Maggie noted nervously, her hands planted to her thighs to hide the quivering that had just started in them.

Jordan hummed, taking a small nip of the juicy fruit. “Must be that good, ol’ Christmas spirit.”

“Yeah, must be.” She observed his relaxed stance, his leisurely expression, and the way his stare never left hers. They never even blinked, not once. She started to feel heavy beneath them. “I, ah… I should check on my sisters” she insisted, pointing behind her. “They should’ve been ready by now.”

“Of course” Jordan nodded, unaware of Maggie’s hesitation. “Tell them I said hi.”

“Will do.” Luckily, Harry had re-entered the room at that very moment, explaining where he had left Maggie’s gift. She ignored him, taking the crook of his arm in a hard grip before he could continue his trek back to the bench. “Harry, keep… Jordan company for me while I’m upstairs. Please?” she added, hoping he got the underlining of what she was actually asking for him to do. _Watch him for me. Make sure he’s alright._

He did, his eyes lighting up in understanding as he kept his smile steady. “Sure.” He turned to Jordan. “Perhaps you could help me prepare the desserts.”

This caught the man’s attention, making Jordan quickly shuck off his jacket and roll up his sleeves. Taking in his attire, she hadn’t at first noticed how smartly he had dressed, wearing a suit and collared shirt that seemed to be tailored-made, just for him. She took but a second to admire it, before turning and heading for the stairs.

Lost in her thoughts of Armani fabrics and Jordan’s overall attitude switch from the man she knew to be so calmed and disciplined, she barely registered her sister’s approached. They collided on the first landing, at the very top of the staircase. “Whoa, where’s the demon?” Macy asked jokingly, taking in Maggie’s hunched back.

She had been running, for whatever reason, and took a moment to catch her breath before addressing her. “Sorry, I was coming up to find you.”

“Oh yeah, sorry. I got distracted, but… did I hear the doorbell before, or was I imagining that?”

“You weren’t!” Maggie felt a small tug of guilt as Mel turned the corner from the staircase leading to the second floor, but immediately masked it with a shrug. “I thought we agreed to have a quiet Christmas this year.”

“We did, I know.”

“Wait, who’d you invite?” Macy asked.

“Jordan,” Mel answered instead, arms folded and face stern. “I knew it was strange when you sent me to find something Harry could’ve just orbed for.”

“Don’t give me that look, Mel,” Maggie retorted. “It’s not like I invited a stranger. Jordan is family at this point, isn’t he?”

Despite the tough-love stance Mel had taken, Maggie could tell it was slipping. She was exchanging glances with Macy, who didn’t look mad at all. “She’s kinda right,” Macy said matter-of-factly.

Mel sighed. “I suppose so.” She couldn’t deny that Jordan had become closer to them since the vanquishing of the faction. Nor could she deny the puppy-eyes Maggie had perfected since she was three. It got her out of many punishments growing up, and even Mel couldn’t be mad at her when she pulled them out. “You should’ve told us though.”

“I know. I apologise for that, at least.”

“Yeah, at least” Mel murmured, getting a whack in the arm and a chuckle from Macy. “Okay, fine. You’re forgiven.”

“Thank you,” Maggie curtsied theatrically.

A barrage of laughter suddenly came into view from downstairs, turning all their heads towards the floor. It was Jordan’s, and it seemed to almost shake the very foundation of the house with how loud and pronounced it was. “Well, he sounds cheerful,” Mel commented.

“Yeah. Maybe a bit too much.”

Macy noted the drop in Maggie’s voice. “Something wrong, Mags?”

“No, I- I’m not sure, honestly” she conceded. “He just seems… overly chipper.”

“Well, it is Christmas.”

“Yes, that’s… fine. But his happiness doesn’t seem… natural.”

Mel crooked her brow, sharing another look with Macy. They weren’t sceptical per say, but having not seen Jordan yet themselves, they couldn’t very well judge a man for sounding happy. “Okay then. We’ll keep an eye on him. See if his mood changes at all.”

“Sounds good,” Macy agreed.

“Yeah” Maggie nodded, turning back to her sisters. “Thanks guys. I just really want this day to be perfect for us.”

“It will be” Macy assured. She took each of her sister’s hands, watching them do the same as they formed a circle. Maggie felt the energy of her two’s sisters flow through their fingertips and up her arms, warming her skin. “You’ve already outdone yourself, Maggie” Macy added, with a flurry of nods of approval from Melanie.

“Thank you,” she beamed, feeling the slow brewing of tears at the corner of her eye. “Okay, let’s get downstairs before I start crying. I promised myself I’d wait till after lunch before the waterworks came.”

They laughed, hurrying down the steps, their moods approving with every pace closer to the kitchen. The smell of warm food and fresh coquito was almost overwhelming, and Macy couldn’t wait to get her hands on some.

_Macy._

She stopped walking, her foot hovering over the last step. Watching from the corner of her eye, her sister’s moved through to the kitchen, oblivious to her motionless state. Whatever had struck her so suddenly was halting her advances. And there was something else in the air. A stir that sent a simple shiver down her back, the same she had felt that morning after her shower.

_Macy, love._

The voice came from her right. She let gravity pull her foot down, landing on the first floor and following the direction of the voice. She noted the shoulder of a silhouette slip from her sight and deeper into the living room. She stepped towards it without fear, despite the trepidations her mind was screaming at her. To turn back. To find her sisters.

But she couldn’t take her eyes away from the shadow, now in the distance, winding its way through to the back of the house. She quickened her pace.

As she was about to round another corner, close enough to have caught up with the mysterious apparition, she heard the distinct swell of a piano pick up from out of nowhere. She slowed down and took in the tune, recognising the rhythm from somewhere. She could hum it beneath her breath, even recall the words of the song she had no clue how she knew.

She stepped into the room, the sun blinding her in its shroud of light. As she lifted a hand to block it out, the small dews of starlight shone in the direction of the stranger. They were seated at a piano, playing the tune with perfect precision. Despite her close proximity to them, they were still out of focus. She wiped her eyes in an effort to see them more clearly, but all that effort did was irritate her eyes.

“Who are you?” she asked, her speech presented loudly, but coming out softer in the dream-like scape of the room.

The stranger didn’t pause in their recital, but did turn their head to peer over their shoulder. At least, that’s how their movement appeared to Macy. It spoke again, its voice sweet, and enthralling. “Macy.”

Her mouth dried, as a name slivered its way up her throat. But… it couldn’t be, could it?

\---

“Harry!”

Maggie and Mel had been mid-conversation, going through the rest of what needed to be prepared for lunch. It was supposed to be served in 90 minutes, and Maggie was feeling the pressure to make sure everything was perfect, and ready within the time limit she had given herself. Mel had been reassuring her when they entered the kitchen.

It was as still as a summer in Seattle, minus Harry who had both his hands full with hot, fresh buns he had just pulled from the oven. He looked up at Maggie’s exclamation, mouth gaping in confusion. “Was I not supposed to get these out yet?”

“No, no Harry. They look… great actually” she said, forgetting her reason for being shocked to begin with. Then she remembered; “But Har, where is Jordan?”

He pointed a mittened finger up towards the ceiling. “Bathroom.”

She sighed, giving him a glance that suggested trouble, before patting her sister on the arm. “You might as well help Harry out down here. I’ll go check on Jordan.”

“Sure” Mel agreed, stepping to the whitelighter’s side as Maggie hurried back out the way they came.

“What’s happening?” Harry’s asked, still baffled by what had just occurred.

“We unanimously agreed to keep an eye on Jordan. Apparently, he’s acting weird.”

Harry nodded approvingly. “Rightly so. He was a little too chipper for my taste, even on a day such as _today_. Also, he kept bringing the conversation back around to Maggie. Even asked me if I recognised the smell of her perfume.” He scrunched up his nose at that last inclusion, and placed something in front of Mel, who eyed it suspiciously.

“All the more reason to stay vigilant,” Mel approved. “Though, I don’t know where Macy’s gotten to. She was right with us when we came downstairs.”

“I’m sure she’s found something to occupy the time,” he answered absently, slamming two cupboard doors a little too emphatically. He apologised when it made Mel jump and turn around in haste.

“You looking for something?” she asked, a hand hovering over her breast in surprise.

“Just the… flipping cinnamon.”

Mel chuckled at his alternative to the much-preferred profane word, and produced the small tube of the spice from out of her trouser pocket. “You mean this, bad boy?” she gestured the small glass concealment she held up between two fingers. “The very thing Maggie sent me upstairs for?”

“Yes, of course,” Harry confirmed, sighing under the scrutinous stare Mel was giving him. “Thank you Melanie. Now-“ He ignored the change in her expression at the use of her full name, forcing her to focus on the bowl he had placed down in front of her. “If you could just freeze this for me-“ It was a carton of some paste-like mixture. Having taken a whiff of the stuff, she now recognised it to be the by-product of ice-cream.

“Huh,” she gasped sarcastically. “What about the _consequences of using our magic for personal and mundane means_?”

Harry tutted at the terrible impersonation. “If it’s not ready by lunch, Maggie will have my head. So please, for me, your most trusted advisor-”

Mel chuckled. “Okay, old man. Don’t give yourself a stroke. I’ve got this.”

He sighed. “You’re bound to actually give me a stroke one day, Melanie. Mark my words.”

The conversation fell with an ease that made both of them comfortable. Melanie couldn’t deny how close she had become with the whitelighter, having had a pretty rocky start if she recalled correctly. Now, they had the kind of relationship that could end exchanges in silence, minus the bitter discomfort that usually followed. They worked well together, mentally synced as Harry rushed around behind her. Her eyes and mind could focus on the task at hand without worrying about another lector. Not any time soon, anyway.

She placed her hands on either side of the tub and channelled her magic into her fingers, building on the feeling of ice until it was released.

She waited. The release seemed to be taking its time. She sighed, making her grip a little tighter and trying again. Still, nothing happened. She shook out her hands and rolled her neck, freeing the rising tension before moving back into the same position.

Again, nothing happened. “Harry?”

He was bent over the stove when Mel spoke up. He paused mid-stir, surprised at how soft-spoken his name had been uttered, and by a witch who often pronounced his name with a higher level of authority. He turned her way, taking in her hunched back and quivering lips. “Melanie, are you okay?”

“It’s not working,” she replied, her voice still too soft to completely be understood.

He took a step closer. “What was that, love?”

“It’s not, working!” Her voice picked up, almost shouting her frustrations right into Harry’s face as she turned to face him. He was startled by the outright exclamation, but kept still, watching the façade Mel wore slowly fall from her expression. She was terrified, and as best as she tried to hide it, she couldn’t. She needed his help.

“Okay. Melanie, breathe.” He placed his hands on her arm, rubbing them up and down in a gesture of calmness. “Tell me what’s not working.”

She took a breath to steady herself, crooking a finger to press against the bridge of her nose. “My powers,” she unwillingly admitted. “It had started upstairs. I couldn’t find the cinnamon at first, so I tried the conjuring spell – not that I was lazy Harry, I was doing it because Maggie needed-“

“Hey, hey, there’s no need to excuse yourself,” he uttered, gesturing for her to continue.

“Well, I tried the spell and it didn’t work, so I thought it just wasn’t there. But Harry, it was. It was right in my face, and it didn’t come to me.”

“That doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with your powers. I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation for why it didn’t work.”

Mel wanted to appreciate Harry’s encouragement, but right now, she needed his honesty and trust. She pointed to the tub of cream. “Then why can’t I freeze it Harry?” She watched him spare a glance to the tub, unchanged in the last five or so minutes he had left Mel with the task. “Can you explain that, Harry?”

“No, I cannot,” he admitted, meeting her stare once again. “But I assure you Melanie, I will help you figure this out. I just need you to calm down.”

“I am calm!”

“Try saying that again without yelling.”

She dropped her jaw, feeling a touch hurt at the refrain. But he was right. She was anything but calm right now. So she bit back the insult she was about to spill out and nodded her head instead. “You’re right,” she admitted bitterly. “But we don’t have much time.”

“Touché,” he agreed. “But if we want to figure this out before Maggie finds out, we must go upstairs now.”

“To the attic.”

“Exactly.”

Harry at least had enough common sense to turn off the stove and oven on the way out of the kitchen. Mel must’ve left her own senses in the bucket of goop as she fled from the room, eyes focused on the path ahead, determined to get her powers back.

\---

As trouble brews downstairs, Maggie finds herself climbing back up to the second landing. The whiplash she felt from running back and forth throughout manor was not something she was unprepared for. She had made sure to plan for anything and everything that could go awry.

Granted, an overenthusiastic guest had not even touched that list. But it was something she was confident enough to handle.

The bathroom, where Harry had told her Jordan would be, was unoccupied when she reached it. She scratched her head, thinking about where else he could’ve ended up. The house wasn’t exactly safe to explore, and the last thing she wanted to do was getting under her sister’s skin. Again.

Then she remembered they had another bathroom downstairs, hidden away in the corner by the laundry. Perhaps upon his snooping of the place, he had used that lavatory instead. She was about to turn around and investigate this train of thought for herself, but she froze in place as she heard something coming from down the hall. Music. The crescendo of violins perks at her ears, sending curiosity to the forefront of her mind.

She turns and follows the sound. They lead to her bedroom door, which is shut tight. She doesn’t recall closing the door on her way out that morning, or leaving her radio on. She knocks, then scolds herself for doing something so irrelevant. Why was she expecting an invitation into her own, damn room?

“Come in, Maggie.”

She’s startled by the voice that addresses her in perfect diction, despite the door and music being too heavy to shout through. She quickly reaches for the knob and turns it, letting physics drive it the rest of the way, parked against the opposing wall. She blinked, not knowing what to expect. She certainly wasn’t holding her breath for the display before her. Candles lined the edges of the room, and rose petals were sprinkled all over the carpet. And Jordan, which was occupied by the very man she’d been searching for, was lying on her bed, perched up on his side and balancing the stem of a trimmed rose between his teeth.

Maggie was far too startled to laugh. She should’ve laughed at the absurdity of it all. Instead, she stood stock-still, arms braced at her side, and observed as Jordan raised his brows suggestively. “Jordan, what is this?”

“This is your gift, Margarita.” The sound of her name escaping his lips was almost as tantalising as the music. She felt her heartbeat pick up a step at his words, but ignored it, keeping her focus on how strange, and not-at-all-but-kinda romantic it all appeared to be. She shifted slightly as Jordan moved, shifting till he was seated on the edge of the mattress. He patted the space beside him “Sit, please.”

She did, making sure to leave some space between them. Enough to breath past the strong scent of rose and vanilla that violated her senses. Jordan was quick to fill the gap, taking her hands in his own. She stilled, her spine threatening to snap with the ice that climbed up her back. “Jordan, this is… all so nice, but don’t you think it’s just-“

“Too much?” Her heart broke at the stutter in his voice, but it was soon masked with more joy as his smile grew a whole size bigger. “I know I may have gone a tad… _overboard_. But I figure, given your duties as a witch, and with the constant danger you throw yourself into, that life is too short to not go overboard, you know?”

She nodded slowly. “yeah, I think I get it.”

“So, Margarita Vera,” he took her cheek in his hand, a blush spreading over her face as he moved in closer, “if you will let me-“

His pace was slow. Slow enough for her to draw back. To say no. He hesitated a moment, waiting for her to do exactly that. But with permission granted, he closed the distance, placing his lips on the corner of her mouth. It felt like the brush of a feather over her skin, and suddenly she wanted to feel more of the pressure that came with the growing passion. She wanted to grab the collar of his shirt and pull him in, to deepen the kiss and run her fingers through his chaotic curls.

But his kiss was angelic, with soft nips at her bottom lip, and a tongue darting out to seek entrance. He was giving her the chance to take it further, but only if she wanted to. She was surprised. He had seemed so brash upon arriving at the manor. And while she could feel the jitters in his legs as he waited for more, she knew he wouldn’t push her for it. It was _all_ up to her where it went next.

She wanted it to go somewhere, more than anything in that moment. But she drew back, placing a hand on his chest to indicate for him to do the same. He did, his eyes slowly peeling open to gaze longingly at her. “Jordan, I-“

She was about to make up an excuse, any ridiculous reason to get out of there. But a sharp barge of thumps seem to come out of nowhere, racing past her door and into the distance. _Perfect_. “I- need to check on my sisters. Make sure everything’s okay.”

Jordan listened intently, rubbing circles into the palm of the hand he still held tightly. “Of course, you should.” He didn’t look disappointed, or perturbed by the interruption. He took the hand off her cheek while raising the other, placing a soft peck to the back of her hand, before letting it go. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

“Okay.” She quickly rose and approached the door. Before she could escape the room altogether, she turned back to Jordan, his eyes still wide and brimming with anticipation. She smiled back, speaking in honesty about how she was feeling. “Thank you, for all of this Jordan. I do appreciate it.”

_But it wasn’t real. None of it was_.

A small piece of this knowledge, stored in the corner of her mind stretched out into a dozen branches, each linking to another piece of evidence to the contrary. She had a feeling she knew what was happening now. She left the room, closing the door tightly, ignoring the music that would’ve beckoned her right back in. She heard the thumping from before and followed it, climbing the staircase that led up to the attic.

\---

“No, it can’t be you.”

The blurred figure finished up the piece of music, its fingers lingering over the keys. “Why not, Macy?”

Macy’s voice shook with the same intensity as her hands as the figure stood slowly, seeming to evaporate through the air and surrounding furniture as it turned to face her. “Because you’re dead,” she said, feeling an instant chill after it had passed her lips. The shivers only continued to grow and spread through her body as the figure approached. “No, stay back,” she threatened, holding a hand up and stretched out in front of her.

“Macy,” the voice repeated in a softer cadence. That made Macy pause. “The world is far more complicated than you know.”

Suddenly, she isn’t standing in the manor. The room around her has transformed into a mass of dark shadows, hiding every corner from her sight. Her eyes, still lingering on the stranger, are shrouded by a clear veil. She can still see through it as clearly as day, but she can’t move through it. Can’t reach the other side. She wants to. She’s dying to. She wants to see the figure who stands just a short pace before her.

But it can’t be her. “ _Mum_.”

“Right now, the only thing that matters is that you’re my daughter, and I love you.”

“Mother, why are you saying these things?” And why did it all sound so familiar? Macy wished she could answer her own questions, which only multiplied as time stretched on, but they were slowly beginning to dissolve. Everything felt strange, yet intimate all at once. “What are you doing to me?” she asked, her words slurred with the crushing dizziness.

“Macy, I need you to breathe.”

She couldn’t find any air, anything to push out through her lungs. The hand she held out in protection was now clutching at her throat.

“Clamp down your emotions.”

Marisol’s voice rang in her ears. She could picture her saying these words with perfect recollection, but she couldn’t see her face. There was only a blank canvas where her smile or warm eyes should be.

“Macy, I have to go.”

Without realising she was doing it, Macy had released a push of air into her chest. Somehow, it brought her back to reality. She fell to her knees, heaving in as much oxygen as her lungs would allow, blinking away tears to find the figure. They weren’t there. Something was wrong. She stood, her knee’s unstable as she spun, searching the room for her mother.

_There_. The silhouette was standing in the archway she had followed it in from. She moved her feet in a rush to reach it, stumbling and falling against the wall. She knocked trinkets off a small side desk, paying no mind to the sound of shattering glass as she continued her pursuit.

The figure climbed the stairs up to the second floor, following a clear path further up to the top of the manor. Macy paid no mind to where she was going. All she knew was that she would not let her mother get away from her. Not again.

\---

Maggie entered the attic, only to be greeted with commotion. Harry was flicking through several books at a mile a minute, with Mel pacing beside him, a book of her own being skimmed through. “Nothing, again!” she exclaimed, throwing it onto a pile of abandoned hardcovers. It landed with a clash, sending a few off the top falling to the floor, offsetting the small mountain she had been building. She barely paid it any mind, immediately picking another book off the shelf to skim through.

She had failed to notice her appearance, not until her she exclaimed in a loud hurrah; “What the hell is going on?”

She dropped the book she was holding, ignoring the sudden thunk of pain as it bounced off the toes of her studded docs. She ignored the same sound that seemed to come from behind her, followed by a huff from Harry as he brushed off the agony. “Maggie, something is wrong with me.”

“Whoa, what do you mean?” Her stare flickered from Mel to Harry, clearly expecting an explanation.

“Maggie,” Harry addressed, standing tall and approaching Maggie like she was some wild animal he was attempting to tame. “I promise, I didn’t leave the turkey in the oven before we came up here-“

“Oh, forget that,” she brushed off his regards, turning back to Mel. She didn’t miss the soft sigh of relief the whitelighter let out at her interruption, but she couldn’t pay it any mind right now. “What’s happening with you?”

“I think I’ve lost my powers. I-I’ve tried to use them a couple of times this morning, and nothing’s work. I don’t know what I could’ve done to deserve this.”

Her sister’s hysterics brought her protectiveness out. She approached her sister and stilled her flailing hands with her own. “Mel, it’s gonna be okay. I think I know what’s going on.”

That stilled Melanie’s movements. “How?”

“I just need to ask you something, and I want you to know that I am not trying to pry into your thoughts or anything when I do.”

Mel understood why Maggie was asking for permission before asking something so forward. She would often bite her head off for being so nosy, especially since her powers had manifested. So she nodded, bracing her sister’s hands back and giving her the most trusted stare she could muster. “Sure, ask me anything.”

“What did you wish for last night?”

Mel hesitated, having not expected that would be what Maggie would inquire about. But now that she was processing that very thought, the tiniest of details were starting to align. “Well, I-“ she faltered, waiting to gage the reactions she would get at the reveal of her wish. “I might have wished for a day without magic.”

“Wha- really?” Maggie asked, her assertion quickly switching from pure shock, to disbelief.

“It’s not like that,” she explained. “I just wanted a day off from everything. A day without demons, and politics, and all of it. Just… a day where we aren’t almost killed by the end of it.”

Maggie understood, but she was still partially surprised at such an admittance, especially from her workaholic of a sister. She was still processing it all when Harry came up to stand beside them. “Don’t mind me ladies. Just wondering when you made this wish, Melanie, you were…”

“Up here,” she gestured to the room. “Me, Maggie and Macy did it last night.”

“Yeah, it’s a tradition,” Maggie continued, turning to Harry. “Ever since we were little. It was Macy’s first time and we wanted it to be special.”

“And was there a spell involved?”

“Well, we did recite something,” Mel recalled. “It was a passage mom wrote. We would say it out loud as she burned the pages our wishes were written on, and tossed into a cauldron filled with sage and dried irises.”

“And you did this last night?”

“Yes. What are you-“

“I knew it!” Maggie’s outcry caught the two off them off-guard. “I knew Jordan’s behaviour was suspicious.”

“So… does that mean you wished for Jordan?” Mel asked, more suspicious now of why Jordan had turned up as he did.

“Of course not,” Maggie denied, “but it explains why he’s acting the way he is.”

“Well we can get into the details of Maggie’s wish later,” Harry interjected, watching Mel as she was about to spill into a thousand questions. She watched the sister’s enthusiasm disperse as he continued. “Right now, we need to find a way to reverse them.”

“Great idea,” Maggie approved. “We just need to find-“

_Crash!_

The door to the attic hit the wall as Macy stumbled through, pausing at the startled screams and shocked stares of her sisters. Harry was the first to recover, taking note of her delirious appearance. “Macy?”

Her eyes darted between the three, not really noticing their expressions, or expressing any curiosity of her own as to why they were all up here to begin with. “Where is she?” she asked, somehow expecting them to know where the apparition had disappeared to after shifting through the half-closed door.

Harry eyed the two sisters for confirmation, but they both looked just as struck as he was. “Who, Macy?”

“She came up here. I saw her. I followed her. She has to be here.”

Her hurried speech had Mel worried. She took a step closer, hesitant to scare Macy out of whatever vision she seemed to be having. “Macy, are you okay?” Her sister didn’t answer, nor pay mind to the question. Her eyes were still darting over the room, skittering like a scared rodent looking for an escape. “What is wrong with her?”

“Well,” Harry spoke up, voice low and tranquil, “if both of your wishes have come to fruition in one way or another, then we must presume-“

“The same has happened for Macy,” Maggie said, finishing Harry’s thought.

“Oh no,” Mel muttered.

Then without warning, Macy’s eyes stilled. Her gaze travelled past her sisters, over Harry’s head, and towards the back of the attic. The whitelighter turned, following her line of sight and expecting to see something frightening standing there, given Macy’s starched expression. But there was nothing to be seen, inside the room or out, the sun still blinding its viewers through the wide shimmering glass of the round window.

“Is there something there?” Mel asked, catching Harry’s turn from the corner of her eye.

“Nothing,” he confirmed.

“Mom.”

Maggie’s mind blanked for a moment as Mel exclaimed “Did she just say-“

“Mom! No!”

Through Macy’s eyes, the figure was no longer silhouetted. Their edges were still not sharp enough to completely make out Marisol’s features, but she could tell it was her now, more than before. A hand was reached out for her, in beckoning. “Take my hand, Macy.”

She wanted to. Badly. But a part of her sensed the danger. Her sister and Harry were standing there, staring at her. She could see them there, feel their worry from where she stood.

Then the figure moved. They gave no indication of running, but they shifted quickly towards the window. It smashed into tiny, sharp pieces as it collided with the glass, that sprinkled through the air and littered the floor.

Macy’s feet moved, bare and anticipating the sharp stabs that would come from walking over the small landmines, but there was no pain. Just the shift of air as she took flight, darting towards where her mother had fallen.

Something stopped her approach before she could get too far ahead. Two vice-like grips held her arms at her side, halting her movement. “No, no. Let me go. Mom needs me.”

Maggie and Mel held Macy back with all the strength they could muster. Harry stood before her, bracing her face in an attempt to bring her back to reality. Wherever she was, it was conjured in her mind, and if he didn’t wake her from her conscious nightmare, he expected only the worst could happen.

“Macy, love. Whatever you’re seeing… it isn’t real,” he said, trying to pry her eyes from whatever she was fixated on, and into his stare. “Macy, look at me. Focus on me.”

She did, her stare fixed to his as if she was only just seeing him. He recognised the expression from a night many years ago. A night he hadn’t expected to remember in that moment. A startled, and emotionally-bare Macy, laying eyes on him for the very first time, as a stranger.

“Harry.” He was relieved she had recognised him. But only for a moment. Just as suddenly as she had snapped out of her phantasy, her eyes had closed, legs giving out in quick succession. She collapsed into his arms, bracketed by Maggie and Mel who made sure she didn’t turn and faceplant the floor on her way down.

He immediately pressed a finger to her throat, delighted to find her pulse immediately, throbbing a little too fast for comfort. _But at least she was breathing_ , he thought.

Both sister’s noticed the relief in his shoulders and followed suit. “Well, that was something,” Mel huffed in an attempt at humour. She got a relieved smile from both of them, knowing her moment of ease was appreciated. “So, now what?”

“Well, we need to reverse these wishes, and fast.” Harry brushed a hair out of Macy’s face, watching her eyes flutter gently under her lids. “I don’t want Macy to go through whatever that was again.”

Maggie nodding, eyeing her sister with caution. “So how do we stop them?”

“I have an idea.” Now Harry knew what the stem of the issue was, he knew where to find the remedy. He lifted Macy into his arms, placing her on the couch. Mel had fluffed up a pillow, placing it beneath her head as he folded her arms over her chest. “Thankfully we won’t need Macy’s cooperation to perform it.”

The two sisters stood by the lounge, keeping a close watch on Macy as Harry worked. He flew around the room, a book delicately balanced in the crook of his arm as he gathered ingredients, muttering to himself in a language they didn’t recognise as English. They didn’t pay him much mind, only aware he was there as he planted himself down in the center of the room.

Maggie was running her fingers through Macy’s hair, massaging her scalp. Small, fleeting glimpses of emotion could be felt rushing through her as Macy dreamt. At least now her dream seemed to be of something peaceful, and less threatening than a trip off the top floor.

“Maggie?” Mel spoke up, waiting to carry on with her inquiry as Maggie’s gaze rose to meet hers. “Macy was calling out for mom.” Maggie knew where the conversation was going, but waited patiently for her sister to ask the most obvious question. “Do you think that has something to do with what Macy wished for?”

“I think…” Maggie chose her next words carefully, afraid to make assumptions before they knew the truth. “I have a theory, but I’m not too sure.”

Mel silently agreed, leaning her head against the hilt of the sofa, her stare floating back to Macy. Maggie’s stare followed. “I guess we’ll just have to wait for her to wake up.”

“Guess so.”

It took another couple of minutes for Harry to finish his preparations. Once he was done, he approached the sisters, sinking to his knees so they were seated in a makeshift circle, meeting at the point of where Macy slept. He instructed the sisters to each take a hold of her while simultaneously reaching for the same bowl they used for their spell, allowing the magic to flow freely from Macy without the need to disturb her.

They repeated the small rhyme of Latin Harry told them to recite as he burned another parchment of paper in the same deeply scented arrangement of dried fauna. After they were done, the parchment dissipated, its embers disappearing in a puff of smoke as they rose into the air.

They felt no relief, or a sign of change after the spell was done. Mel couldn’t hide her disappointment, hoping for more than just an amateur magicians display of a well-done conjuring trick. “Now what?” she asked, turning to Harry for guidance.

“Well,” he said, looking just as lost she felt, “try using your powers.”

She suddenly felt stupid for asking. She took a look around the room to avoid his stare, her cheeks burning in embarrassment as a crystal caught her eye from across the room.

She held out her hand, and held her breath, recalling the spell she had attempted to use that very morning. That felt like a lifetime ago now, given everything that had occurred since then.

“ _Ayúdame a encontrar lo que está perdido_ … kyanite.”

It happened in an instant. The small, blue gem flew across the room, its path clear as it found purchase in Mel’s grasp. She sighed, almost sobbing at the relief of having her power back.

Maggie chuckled with the same level of alleviation. “Well, that’s one less thing to worry about.”

Macy stirred, groaning as a hand rose to grip her forehead. The three of them lent forward, smothering her with worried glances. “Macy?” Maggie asked, looking for any sign of something to worry about.

“Mags?” Macy asked, her eyes creasing as they opened, blinded by the stream of sunlight coming from the other side of the room. “Mm, where am I?”

“The attic.”

“And how’d I get here?”

“You walked,” Mel interjected, matter-of-factly. It earned her a stern look from Maggie, which she ignored. “Do you remember how you got up here?”

“No,” Macy muttered, shifting to sit up. She took her sister’s hands as they assisted, moving her till she was seated up against the back of the sofa, feet meeting the cool timber floor. “Everything’s a blur. I think… I had a shower, and then we were talking on the stairs?”

“Yeah,” Maggie roused. “We came downstairs together, but then you vanished.”

“No, I heard something. Saw something, I mean. I thought it was…” Her voice melted away as her eyes focused on the room, taking in each face, wrinkled with an expression stuck somewhere between concern and dread. She started to recall the events of the day, the sense of fear and anticipation as she followed the voice through the house, and up to the attic. She eyed the window across the room, without a single crack in its surface, now recalling what had led her upstairs. “Oh, what did I do?”

“Nothing, love,” Harry assured, his voice rising up above the sisters who were doing the same. He rested a hand on hers, that was resting on her thigh. “You have nothing to worry about.”

“Then, what happened to me?”

She felt the stares of her sisters, watched as they passed a look between each other. “Well,” Mel started, ready to try to explain what had just happened to her sister.

But before she could, Maggie let out a bark. Macy jumped at the high cry, getting an apologetic smile from her sister. “Sorry Mace. I just remembered that I have something to take care of downstairs. Har, Mel, you’ve got this, right?” She didn’t wait for a reply.

Mel forgot what she was going to say as she watched her sister flee from the room. “What was that about?” Macy asked, her eyes following the same path.

“Jordan’s downstairs.”

Macy gazed back, her expression of confusion only deepening. “I must’ve missed a lot.”

“You have no idea, love” Harry chuckled, pushing off his knees to stand. He took a seat beside her, pulling her into his side, his hand brushing up and down the length of her forearm. They sat there together, waiting for Mel to explain as much of the last hour or so as she could.

\---

Maggie made a mental note to apologise to her sisters later. She hadn’t meant to leave them so suddenly, especially when Macy was mid-crisis. But she knew Mel would explain everything in the best manner, and Harry would be the exact kind of comfort Macy would need to pull through the tangled web in her mind. Maggie had felt it all while she held her as she slept.

She had her own to weed through as well, and walked in delicate and silent footsteps till she reached her room. The music must’ve been switched off while they were occupied upstairs. The door was open, no longer silhouetted in the orange glow of a dozen or so burning candles. She approached it, not stepping inside right away, in case Jordan was in a precarious state.

But given everything that had occurred, Jordan seemed to be taking it better she had expected. He appeared placid from his knelt position on her floor, picking up each individual petal, one by one, verifying he had not forgotten a single one. She leant against the archway’s frame and watched him, devising a way to approach the subject without sending the man running.

Every scenario she devised was awful. So she stuck to her gut, letting circumstance take the wheel as she made her presence known. “Knock, Knock.” Jordan jumped, turning and raising his arms in a yielding pose. She chuckled. “At ease, soldier.”

He sighed in relief, arms lowering as a hand rose to clutch his chest. His broad pupils darted from her face to a spot of the floor. Nervously, he finally spoke up. “Hi.”

“Hi,” she replied in a similarly shy fashion.

After that brief, and tense exchange, Jordan seemed to recall what he had been doing before being abruptly interrupted. He turned back to his task, clearing his throat. He was clearly avoiding Maggie’s gaze, which followed his hands as they darted out from petal to petal, faster than he had been previously.

“How are you feeling?” she asked hesitantly, afraid of what he would say. Granted, she deserved any hostility he would give her. She was the reason he was put under the spell in the first place.

“Honestly?” he started, a hand pulling at the collar of his shirt. His tie was already loose, but Maggie’s appearance seemed to suck what remained of fresh air out of the room. “I feel like a jerk.”

At that admission, Maggie crooked an eyebrow. She had taken a step into the room, surprised by his blatant, and frankly, incorrect confession. “You did nothing wrong. You do know that, don’t you?” she reassured.

“But I remember… everything.” He gestured to the room. The scene of the crime. She could feel the tension that sat heavy on his shoulders from across the space. “It’s so vivid in my mind.”

“Hey, don’t do that.” She broke the space between them to duck at his side. Gripping the crook of his arm, she lifted and pulled him over to the bed, getting some friction from his end as he tried to continue cleaning the floor. Soon, he knew his skirmish was feeble, and willingly let himself be led to the mattress. He perched himself on the edge of it, trying to ignore the comforting hand on his shoulder, and the concerned look in her eyes.

He should’ve known better. When Maggie persisted, she never showed restraint. So why would this occasion be any different? “Please, don’t spiral on me Jordan.” She sounded genuine, enough to garner his attention, and finally, a look. Her eyes were wide and vulnerable, like they expected anger instead of his admission of guilt. “Anyway, it’s my fault. I didn’t realise what the consequences of the spell would be when I cast it. Hell, I didn’t even know it was a spell.”

Now it was Jordan’s turn to shift the consolation back the other way. He took Maggie’s hands in his own. “Hey, I don’t blame you for this.” Even thought it was only known now to him that he had indeed been under a spell. Looking back on the morning, a few small, tabled occurrences started to make more sense.

“Same to you pal,” she joked, watching him turn an accusing eye on her. “Hey, no. You were under a spell, Jordan.”

“But… a part of it felt genuine,” he admitted. “Like, it was just a part of me I hadn’t realised was there.”

As the charged stare moved back to its rightful owner, Maggie turned her head, watching Jordan’s face fall. She wanted nothing more than to lift his spirits, and to help him forget about the whole ordeal. But a question on the tip of her tongue needed to be asked. For her own, curious insanity. “So…what you’re saying is-“

He peered up, his cheeks growing redder as the seconds ticked by. Maggie bit her lip, not saying anything, but reading the answer all over his face. He sighed. “Do I really need to say it?”

“Not at all.” He chuckled as his smile grew, mirroring Maggie’s own infectious grin. “I’m sorry, Jordan.” She hadn’t met to embarrassment him. Goodness knows, he must’ve already felt bogged down by everything that was now stewing out in the open.

“I’m sorry too,” he echoed back. “I hope I didn’t ruin your, or your family’s Christmas.”

“You didn’t,” she settled. “Really. I should’ve told my sisters you were stopping by. Granted, I thought it would only be for a minute, tops.” He laughed, feeling the ease from the light conversation, and Maggie’s influence, warm his skin. “And it… wasn’t totally unpleasant.” He perked up at her sudden addition. He turned his head to meet her stare, noticing she was still chewing on her lip. “I liked the kiss,” she admitted.

“You did?” he asked, making sure he had heard her correctly. The last thing he needed was more miscommunication.

He felt a small sprinkle of relief at her nod. Perhaps it was a bit on the enthusiastic side, but he needed it right now. They both did. “And maybe… perhaps, on another day, I might like to try it again.” Her voice deepened, emphasising her words were about more than just the kiss.

He blushed again, caressing his cheek with his fingers to cool the rising fever. “Yeah. I might like that too.”

“Then, it’s a date.”

The word lingered longer as the silence grew. It was no longer awkward, or uncomfortable. But Jordan knew he had overstayed his welcome. And while Maggie was nothing but hospitable, he knew he needed to leave. “I should get going,” he said, rising to stand at the same time that Maggie did. “I think I still have a couple of hours left to make it up to my nanna.”

“Right, sorry.” Maggie slapped a hand to her forehead. “Of course you still had plans before I messed them up. I’ll walk you out.”

He turned to follow, but then recalled the mess he was leaving her with. “But, do you still need me to-“

“Oh, no. I’ve got that,” she waved her hands at the mess. “Let’s get you home for Christmas, shall we?”

They were met with no interruptions on the way downstairs. She could hear some bustling coming through from the kitchen, having come to the conclusion that her family must’ve left the attic for a more comfortable setting. She would join them shortly, but first she insured Jordan’s jacket was on tight, and his scarf nestled tightly to the bare skin of his throat. “There. Looks like you’re ready to go.”

“Looks like,” he agreed, throwing Maggie an appreciative smirk. “Tell Harry and your sisters I’m sorry, and… well, you know the spiel.”

“Yeah, got it memorised,” she joked, tapping a finger on her temple.

He offered one last sorrowful glance, and a wave, before turning for the front door. His hand was a hair away from gripping the handle before her voice rose up again. “Wait, Jordan.”

He did, turning expectantly at her request. He expected words, something to end the day with a little less awkwardness from when it had begun.

Instead, she gripped the collar of his coat in a tight vice, lightly tugging his face forward. Meeting halfway on the tips of her toes, she placed a kiss on his cheek, letting it linger. He shut his eyes, breathing in a compelling scent of something sweet and intangible. He felt the familiar buzz where her lips were pressed, like when he had left a just-as-long, and lingering kiss.

She pulled back, letting go of his lapel. It took him a moment to notice, too lost in her stare to want to pull back just yet. “Merry Christmas, Jordan Chase,” she whispered, any nerves on display having vanished with the push to pursue what she wanted.

His lips quirked into another smile, with more depth than he had felt in quite some time. “Merry Christmas, Maggie Vera.”

He left at that, taking his exit without a single look back. He could feel her stare following him down the porch and across the empty lot, not letting up till he was at the chained gate. He felt the stare in his car, and all the way home. And honestly? He couldn’t wait to feel more of it.

\---

Mel spotted Maggie walking in from the direction of the front door. By then, the conversation between herself and Macy had died down to a favourable silence, broken by soft sighs and the subtle slurps of their coquitos. She gave Maggie a knowing smile as she entered the room, which was met with relief. “Is Jordan good?”

“Yeah,” Maggie answered. “He remembers it all, but nothing happened, so...”

She didn’t need to finish her sentiment for her sisters to see how she must be feeling. “I’ll pour you a coquito.” Melanie stood, brushing up against her sister’s arm as she passed her.

Maggie watched her enter the kitchen, and exhaled a long groan through her teeth. “All that time wasted,” she sighed. Macy turned to follow her sister’s stare, gazing in awe at the catered arrangements of food. Her stomach grumbled in anticipation for what would be an amazing meal. “It can still be saved,” she assured her, jumping in at Maggie’s sullen expression. “It’s not even midday yet.”

Maggie paused at that, her eyes following the tinsel-lined corners of the room till her eyes found the old clock in the corner. Macy was correct; the time showed it was only just past 11.15. “How did this all happen in only a couple of hours?” she asked in astonishment.

“I have no idea,” Macy replied with a shrug.

She felt something being pressed into her hand, and loosened her grip to take a better hold of it. The whiff of coconut that hit her nose soothed her instantly, as did Mel’s grin, and her arm that weaved her way around her back. He leant a head against Maggie’s shoulder as she turned back to Macy. “How are you feeling?” she asked her, having not been there for what would’ve been an crazy explanation of the day’s events.

If Macy was honest, she wasn’t quite at the point of okay that would satisfy her sisters. Her mind was still occupied with the information she had been given, as well as her own experience of what went down. She had yet to hear about what either of them had gone through, but it seemed to her that they had fared better with their wishes. She caught Maggie’s patient stare from the across the table, followed by an encouraging smile, to say exactly what was on her mind. “I don’t think I’m quite there yet,” she admitted.

“Well,” Mel perked up, head still rested on Maggie’s shoulder. “Maybe we should talk about it. Get it all out there.” She blinked her stare hovering between both her sister’s expressions of scepticism. “What?”

“Nothing,” Maggie sighed, squeezing her arm gently. “It’s just… you never offer to talk first.”

Mel grumbled; “Well then coin it as a Christmas miracle, and let’s just get it over with.”

_Now that was more like it_. Macy and Maggie shared a look as they rose to leave the room.

Without needed to provide a destination, they were all drawn to the lounge. A fire was slowly starting to burn in the fireplace, started by Harry who had occupied his time with other things while the sister’s had talked in the kitchen. Macy met his stare as they entered, her sisters moving freely to the lounge while her cheeks brewed red in humiliation.

Harry was down on one knee, crouched low enough to hold a dustpan and brush over a small pile of collected glass shards. She couldn’t recall much of her journey from down here and up to the attic, but she had a feeling she might’ve been the cause of such unnecessary destruction. An apology was on the edge of her lips when he spoke up.

“Macy, do not apologise,” Harry assumed, reading her expression in her trembling lips and dewed eyes. “You were in a lot of distress this morning. If I had known, I would’ve been at your side sooner.”

Each of them would be throwing out apologise to each other for the rest of the day. They knew this. They needed to settle these feelings as much as her sisters did. So with one last promise to be back after discarding the glass, he left the room.

Her eyes lingered a little longer on the empty space atop the cabinet, before she turned and finally took her seat.

Harry returned with a fresh mug of warm coquito and perched himself in his favourite armchair. The fire had warmed the room considerably, forcing Mel to roll up the sleeves of her festive sweater. She was seated in the opposite chair to Harry, leaving Maggie and Macy to occupy the space on the couch.

After a moment of silence, allowing everyone to get situated for what was about to be an abrupt, and much needed therapy session, Harry spoke up. “So… who would like to start?”

The sister’s exchanged glances. Mel seemed to be sinking into her seat, suddenly wanting to avoid the exchange altogether. As Maggie watched her take another long swig of her drink, she spoke up. “Mel?”

Her sister gave her a betrayed look. “Why me?”

“This was your idea,” Maggie argued, “And besides, you were the first to admit your wish, when we were upstairs.”

“I was under duress,” she argued back.

“And now, you’re safe,” Harry butted in. “Melanie, none of us are here to judge you.”

“Of course not,” Maggie added, quietly thanking Harry for the rebuff. “I’m just… concerned.” Mel knew why she would be, and she didn’t mean to roll her eyes at the idea of her sisters regarding her with worry. “Why did you make that wish, specifically?” Maggie asked, giving her an opening.

Mel sighed, shifting to sit up a little. “I told you upstairs. I just wanted a break from demon-hunting and witch duties for a day.”

“Is that all?” Mel’s look expected emphasis on the question. “I mean, would you want it to be longer than a day?”

Mel scoffed. “Of course not. The world would not survive without us for that long.”

“But you were still willing to take a single day?”

She felt pushed into a corner. She gave a pleading glance to Harry, who was giving her the same cautious stare. It wasn’t as strong as her sister’s, so she kept her eyes on him as she answered; “I don’t know what I was thinking. I… never wanted to make a wish in the first place. It just seemed like something that was… impossible.

“And from past experience, none of my wishes have ever come true. So why would this year’s be any different?”

“It seems,” Harry perked up, noticing a lull in the conversation at Mel’s remark, “given your new status as the Charmed ones-“ new being relative since they had been blessed with their duties for over two years now, “the poem your mother made up has much more magic behind it than you all realised.”

“Then why did they never come true before then?” Mel argued. “Mom was always the one who conjured them for us. Surely her power would’ve been enough to make them real.”

“Maybe, that wasn’t the point,” Harry suggested.

“Yeah,” Mel sighed in defeat. Maggie had watched her sink lower into the cushions as Harry had talked, accepting his words with miserable reluctance. She suddenly started to picture her sister when they were younger. When she was excited for the tradition, jotting down her wish in a crayon and with bold letters. Over the years, that excitement had dimmed, and each year it was another match of tug-and-war just to get her to join in.

Looking back, she was now convinced Melanie eventually gave up on making wishes that would make her happy, and only kept up with the tradition to appease her mother. And her baby sister, who still held out hope for a pony, or new ballet slippers, or a prince on a noble steed. Maggie had never imagined those wishes not working, even if they had never come true.

“What about you?” Maggie was broken out of her deep thoughts by Mel, who had perked up a bit from when she last viewed her. She opened her mouth to answer, before realising her question wasn’t directed at her. She turned to gaze at Macy, who had her head ducked and hidden behind her long curls. ”You’ve been unusually quiet.”

Macy didn’t move as she spoke. Her hand picked at a loose thread on her cardigan, pulling on it tightly as it stretched out longer with every tug. “My wish was stupid too.”

“I doubt that” Mel rebuffed. She wanted to confirm what they already knew, but one look from Maggie stopped her from venturing to that avenue of questioning. Instead, she lowered her voice. “Macy, you can talk to us. Whatever it was…”

She finally peered up at her sister, who wasn’t wearing the accusing stare her voice seemed to warrant. Harry and Maggie’s expressions were the same – warm, welcoming, waiting patiently for her to speak. “Well, I wished for mom. I just wanted to see her one last time.”

“That sounds… nice,” Maggie admitted, dropping a hand to her sister’s thigh. Macy didn’t blow it off like she thought she would. She could feel through her skin how much Macy was quivering. “So why were you so scared?”

“I wanted to see her,” Macy explained. “I wished more than _anything_ , to see her as I remembered her. Now, thinking about it, the only time I knew mom, truly, was when she appeared to me that night.” She gave Harry a knowing look. He knew instantly what she met, and met her stare with a similar poise.

“Only, I never got to see her face,” Macy continued. “So when she appeared to me this morning, she was a blur. Like a mirage in the desert. And the more I reached out for her, the fuzzier she got.” She sniffed, eyes brimming with the threat of more tears. She didn’t think she could cry any more than she already had, but surprises seemed to be coming at them from all directions today. “I just… I wanted to see her. I didn’t think a simple thing like that could backfire. I mean, she’s already dead. What was the worst that could happen?”

She felt Harry shift forward, placing a hand on her other leg. “You meant well, Macy. And I’m sure wherever Marisol may be, right now, she is here with us. As she always is.”

Macy placed a hand on her chest, knowing in her heart that Harry’s words were true. She gave him a smile, that he returned, easing the tension in her body. Maggie felt it slowly go as they gazed into each other’s eyes, removing her hand when she was sure she wouldn’t be needed to assist. She met Mel’s stare from over their heads, happy to see her sister was feeling better after her episode.

Harry lent back, giving the space back to them as he picked his cooling mug. “Well, if the both of you are feeling much better,” he nodded to Mel and Macy, who insisted they were indeed, fine, “that just leaves you, Maggie.”

Maggie froze, the brim of her glass at her lips. “Who, me?”

“Yes, you” Mel interjected. “Don’t you dare leave us hanging.”

“Yeah,” Macy agreed. “Out of all of us, your scenario seems the less, emotionally scarring.”

Maggie blushed. “Well, yeah. It… wasn’t too bad.”

“So was your wish rated PG, or more closer to R?”

“Melanie!” She chucked a pillow at her sister, which rebounded with her fist and almost collided with Macy’s face. The sister’s laughed at the spontaneity of Maggie’s action, not forgetting that she had yet to admit what her wish was. The both of them started to chant “Spill! Spill!” over and over, watched on by Harry with an amused smirk he hid behind his drink.

“Fine!” Maggie conceded in defeat. “I wished for… a stable romance, with someone I could trust.”

“Oh,” Mel exclaimed, the disappointment present in her voice. “Was that all?”

“Were you expecting something more… _detailed_?” she emphasised.

“Kind of.”

“Well, I think it’s a good wish,” Macy said, turning to Maggie. “After everything you’ve been through, you deserve something like that.”

“Thank you, Macy.” She showed her sister appreciation for her kind words while throwing daggers at Melanie. Her sister took them in stride, saluting her with her drink as her smile cracked into giggles. “I think I deserve it too. And… I might’ve had a conversation with a certain someone about it.”

At the reminder that Jordan had been in their house that very morning, Mel shot up. It startled Harry, who spilled a couple of drops of the milky liquid on his pressed trousers. “So… you and Jordan. You’re finally official?”

Maggie stayed silent, looking for the right phrase to describe her current, and blooming relationship status with the man she once, and still, considers a close friend. Her sisters took her silence to mean another thing altogether, erupting into a roar of cheers and high-fives. “Finally!” Mel exclaimed.

“Yeah, if I had to sit in a room with that building, sexual tension another day-“

Maggie interrupted Macy’s claim with a raised hand. “Okay, hold those thoughts. It’s not like that.” Before she could watch her sister’s laughter die down in disappointment, she explained; “It’s something new, for the both of us. So I think we’re gonna take it slow. Less flowers, more conversation.” She winked at Harry, who caught on to the joke and chuckled under his breath.

“Well, I’m happy for you, Mags,” Mel beamed, taking in her sister’s growing grin. “We all are.”

“Thank you.” She took a moment to let it all sink in , then clapped her hands loudly. It jarred her sisters and Harry out of their sentiments and back into reality. “Well, I for one don’t want to waste the rest of this day on what could be. Let’s make it so!”

“Oh, I can cheers to that,” Harry approved, raising his cup into the air. It was met with three resounding clicks, as the sister’s followed suit.

Maggie’s enthusiasm evaporated the last of the dread that had sunk into the foundations of the manor, bringing back the excitement and possibilities of a quiet Christmas. Maggie stood and approached a small table on the other side of the room. With a little fiddling, the room was suddenly enveloped in smooth jazz, a particular playlist Harry endorsed and Maggie didn’t mind listening to. “Well, if you all wouldn’t mind keeping busy for another 20 or so minutes, I think I can still make today’s schedule work.”

“Not at all Mags.” Mel jumped up from her seat, tackling her little sister in a tight embrace.

“Actually, could you give us two a minute,” Macy interjected, flicking a finger between herself and Harry, who paused mid-stance at the beckon.

“Sure,” Maggie nodded, her eyebrows rising suggestively when Harry wasn’t looking. Macy gave her one last glare before she watched her two sister’s bound out of the room.

Harry stretched to his full height, watching the sister’s go. He moved forward, taking a knelt position at the foot of the sofa. Once at the same height as Macy, he gave a reassuring glance, placing the same hand back onto the same position it has previously been on her thigh. “Are you okay, love?”

She hesitated, letting her façade slip a bit. She didn’t want to worry her sisters anymore than she had, and she didn’t want to do the same for Harry either.

But given his status in their partnership, she figured she may as well utilise her advisor while he was present. “Harry,” she began to ask hesitantly. “Do you remember that night?”

He knew the one she spoke of instantly. “Of course.”

His answer was so matter-of-fact, that it made Macy scoff. “Surely, you don’t remember it that well.”

“I remember a lot of things,” Harry admitted. “I remember how you were dressed, the long stands of your plaited locks.” He took a stand of Macy’s hair between his fingertips, tucking it behind her ear before he continued. “I remember your hesitation when you first saw me, and how it warmed up the longer I stayed.”

She hummed. “I remember… meeting a stranger, dressed in a tailored black suit and looking absolutely fabulous.” She chuckled at Harry’s blush, smoothing down the lapel of his collared shirt. “I remember how gentle you were.” Her fingers grazed the arch of his jaw. “How kind your eyes were.” She met his deep stare, eyes dipping with the drop in her voice. “I remember… feeling safe with you.”

“I remember that too,” he admitted, voice lowering in the same cadence. The swell of the music hid their conversation from prying ears, but somehow, it felt like the universe was standing still, waiting for them to make the first move back into realism.

For now, their own stretch of candlelit paradise seemed to be working for them. At a shift in Harry’s position, bringing him closer, she felt the sharp jab of something against her stomach. Her mind recalled placing at item in it that morning, on her way out of her room. She smiled knowingly.

Harry caught her sudden change of gaze. “What is it?”

She gave him a perceptive look. “Well, I know we were saving it for later, but-“

Without the want to resist, her hand pulled something out, letting rise slowly between them. It brushed over his chest, exciting the nerves that shivers up his spine. His eyes left hers briefly, to gander at the object she produced. Her knowing smile was met with one of his own. “Ah, yes. Well,” he stuttered over his words, nervously. “We have all day to utilise the many uses of mistletoe.”

“Many uses?” Macy asked curiously, her hand was risen over their heads, secured tightly by Harry’s hand, that had latched itself to her elbow during the ascension.

He smirked, charisma dripping from his lips as he spoke. “There are many places to leave a kiss, Ms Vaughn.”

She shuddered at the low tone of his voice, so close to her ear, that his breath brushed over her sensitive skin, making her quiver. “Well, I suppose some traditions don’t need to change.”

He purred at her sentiment. “Touché, my dear.”

Before he could utter another word, he was being pulled upwards. The violence of the shove almost sent him off-kilter, but Macy’s unoccupied hand braced his jumper, making his trajectory smooth. It landed with him leaning over her on the couch, almost bracketing her lap, as she kissed any surprise remark off his lips. He kissed back, eager to make it last. This wasn’t the time, nor place for more sensual activities, but the excitement of her behaviour would leave him wanting all day, and well into the evening.

And as the mistletoe, hanging from Macy’s light grasp, dropped to the floor, unnoticed by the two lovers who know had all hands engaged in touching any part of the body they could, the other two sister’s could be heard laughing from the kitchen, hands busy with less carnal pursuits.

The day wasn’t wasted. A new sense of joy and optimism seeped itself into the walls and floors of the old manor. And as Macy as pointed out, perhaps some traditions weren’t needed to be changed.

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt I used for this story went like this:
> 
> _the gang writes holiday wishes as a sort of homemade tradition they used to do with their mom to celebrate the time of year. Turns out it's actually tied to an old ritual and, now with their activated powers, the wishes start coming true--but with unintended consequences/in weird ways!_
> 
> I think I did pretty well, considering. :p
> 
> Feel free to find me on Tumblr or Twitter for more fics and other fun things in 2021.


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